Of Goblins and Roses
by Kailiagara
Summary: "She will be your downfall." The Three Witches had warned him, so many centuries before. It didn't scare him then. It does now.
1. A Midsummer Night's Dream

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,

Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

\- William Shakespeare, _Sonnet 18_

* * *

_500 Years Ago_

_._

On a midsummer night, the High King of Faeries received one unexpected surprise.

It was during one of his numerous revelries, where mead flowed abundantly and the smell of sex hung heavily in the air. It was his favorite.

Perched on his lap was a beautiful mortal woman - whose name he couldn't remember, but with wide blue eyes and beautiful, long blonde hair. Her body was to die for, and her breasts promised him many wonders, and more. She had a large smile on her face but her gaze was vacant, as in a daze. His kin's food was dangerous for humans. He didn't feel guilty - nor did he care. He was King, after all. He kissed her bare neck, and let himself smile when he felt her shiver.

His hands on the girl's hips, he suddenly felt the change in the air. It was quite brutal, as a storm coming dangerously. He let a guttural growl escape his mouth, clearly annoyed.

He hadn't received words from the Three Witches since the day of his coronation, centuries ago. They had promised him a long reign, an heir, and everything a King could ask for. What more could they, especially _now_, tell him?

Clearly not in the mood anymore, he abruptly let go of the girl. She looked at him, confused, and he suppressed the need to roll his eyes.

"Go home, girl." he told her, annoyed. "I don't need nor want you there anymore." With a move of his hand, the girl disappeared, along with her memories of the event.

The babe, however, he kept.

It was sleeping in his castle's nursery, blissfully unknowing of its fate. He still hadn't decided what to make of it. He was High King of Faeries, for sure, but he also was the Goblin King. Should he turn it into one of its own? Or into a goblin? With a snap of his finger, he let chance decide the baby's fate.

A few seconds later, he saw one of his goblin maid sigh, and head for the nursery.

He grinned.

Rising from his throne, he headed to the High Tower where he knew the Sisters would be, carefully avoiding the bodies of his subjects on the floor, too fully absorbed in their orgy to even notice their King. He sighed, absolutely jealous of the sight. He would rather join them than being alone in a room with the Witches waiting for him.

They were not pleasant to watch, nor to talk.

Before he could reach the stairs, a voice interrupted him. This time, he didn't stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Your Majesty", told him a feminine voice.

He turned, and smiled. He recognized her - Aoif, the High Lady of the Court of Roses. She had curly, chestnut hair, and warm blue eyes. Her cheeks were pink and she seemed genuinely happy to be there, clearly not disturbed by the fact that her husband's mouth was devouring another woman's cunt. He attributed that fact to hormones. She was clearly, heavily pregnant.

She bowed to him, as was expected of her. He patiently waited for her to speak.

"I noticed you seem to escape the revelry. Is everything alright, your Grace?" she sounded surprisingly worried, which made him arch a brow. His kin, faes, were known to be vicious, especially pregnant ones. This one must have mortal blood in her. A weakness.

He plastered a diplomatic smile on his face.

"Sadly, a King's duty is never over, my Lady." He told her, as pleasantly as it was possible. He tried not to show he was rather impatient to leave. "I have matters I have to attend to, but rest assured that I'll be back very shortly."

She smiled, satisfied with the answer. She then looked at him rather coyly, and told him in a lower tone, "Will you join me, after you are done ?"

Hormones.

He grinned. "Of course, Lady Aoif."

He would not.

He kissed her hand, and took the stairs, this time uninterrupted.

.

"You are late" told him an ethereal voice. It froze his blood, though he tried not to show it. A King shall not be scared - but the Witches frightened even him.

He smiled, and tried not to show his nervousness.

"Witches," he told them. "Welcome in my realm. I sensed your coming, but I am afraid I do not understand the reason you…" He dared look at them in the eyes - three grotesque bodies in one, with empty, bloody cavities as eyes. The mouths were sewn - it was a wonder they could even speak. One was a child, one a woman, and one a crone, their bodies grossly stitched together.

Sometimes magic could be a wonderful thing. But sometimes, it was just horrifying. He wondered what went through Hecate's head when she decided to give birth to her… Apostles. Messengers. Whatever the hell they were.

"A prophecy we shall give you", told him a toddler voice. Clotho was her name.

A frozen smile was carefully plastered on his face, but confusion could be read in his eyes.

"I'm afraid I was already given a prophecy a long time ago" He tried to be polite - he really did, but he wasn't comfortable being in the same room as them. They stared at him (how could they even do that, he didn't know) and did everything in his power not to gulp. He waited.

He heard an older voice - Atropos, the crone - sigh.

"Macbeth really was better at this."

His eyes twitched.

"Macbeth is also very much dead", he replied coolly, momentarily forgetting his fear. He didn't like being compared - especially to mortals. They were fools, men and women alike, and deserved to be despised.

"Listen to our wisdom, young King" finally told him a young woman's voice, sweet to even his ear. But he was not fooled. Lachesis might have a beautiful and charming voice, she was still the monster in front of him.

And he wasn't young. At all.

He crossed his arms. "Why now? If you had something to say, why didn't you say it the day of my coronation?" Jareth was a rather impatient man, and despite the fear, this conversation was starting to bore him. It seemed like the whole word decided to especially annoy him today.

The three of them laughed in unison, and never had he heard a sound so bone-chilling. This time, he didn't repress his gulp.

"You shall indeed have a long reign, feared and respected by all. King of the Kings, they shall call you, and many wars will you win." they started, as if reciting a spell - or a curse. So far, Jareth was not impressed. It was almost word by word what they had already told him. "But", and he thought he could hear their smile. His brow furrowed. "One dreadful night, a mortal girl shall you meet - her will as strong as yours, and her kingdom as great. Twice will she break the order of things. Twice will she best you."

After a silence, they silently added.

"She will be your downfall."

Jareth only blinked. Once, and twice. And then…

He laughed.

"A mortal girl ?" He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. Never in the history of his kin had a mortal win against one of his own. Especially not a woman. He saw the Witches as they were now - just old women trying to scare a young king. He was not going to let that happen. "Sorry, I'm not buying that." He wiped his eye, for good measure. He always had a flair for the dramatic. "Anything else ?"

The Witches only looked at him, smiling. As if they had expected this reaction. Still, he let it not bother him. He knew the truth, now.

"Turning that baby into a goblin before we could eat him is really poor manners", is the only thing Clotho told him.

He wrinkled his nose, disgusted.

.

Centuries had passed, and King Jareth had long forgotten the prophecy. He was feared and respected, and indeed, many wars did he win. His kingdom was great, and his will was strong. His subjects said he could even move the stars - and maybe one day, he would.

He still challenged mortals, men and women alike, to his labyrinth. Stealing their powers, for nothing shines as bright as a mortal's belief, and their babies.

All was well.

Until he met her.

_Sarah Williams._

_._

_Present days_

_._

At 25, Sarah Williams considered herself quite lucky, all things considered. Sure, she didn't follow her dream to be an actress, and she would probably never be in the same movie as Brad Pitt, but she found following the footsteps of her popular mother would have been too exhausting anyway. And teaching at university wasn't so bad. Especially when offered a phD position at Oxford. Classic English literature has always been her thing, after all, and she was too enamored with Shakespeare's works to say no to such an opportunity. A Midsummer's Night Dream was her favorite - though she tried not to think too much as to _why_.

She had friends. Sure, she didn't have many, and most people she met found her quite weird at first, but still. She wasn't the savage girl she used to be as a teenager. Like everyone else, she enjoyed her coffee with sugar, she liked going to the mall, and she blushed when a nice and charming boy, and even sometimes a girl, flirted with her.

She had been in relationships. Some ended well, some ended badly. She had loved and she had hated, as it was the case in life.

She had let her hair grow very long, then cut them very short, and then regretted it and let them grow long again.

She loved her father, and found her step-mother wasn't actually the diabolical ogress she thought she was. She grew to love her, too.

Her relationship with her mother was complicated, and they didn't talk as much as she wanted to, but she knew Linda tried. It was better than nothing.

And she loved her little brother to death. Sure, they still fought sometimes, and she just _wished_ he would stop spending so much time playing video games, but kids were kids, and she used to be one as well.

In other words, Sarah Williams, 25 years old today, was a normal woman, thank you very much.

Minus, of course, the whole "15 years old girl wishes her baby brother away, found herself in a magical land with dwarves and talking dogs, and somehow succeeds in besting a Goblin King in love with her". That's the part, she supposed, that made her _less_ normal. But in the last 10 years, she didn't receive words from her magical friends nor from the diabolical King. So far, so good.

Tonight, her friends had invited her to the local pub to share a few drinks for her birthday. She didn't live too far from the city, thankfully, so she could allow herself one pint of beer or two. Or more.

Her phone suddenly buzzed, and she looked at it to see who had sent her a message.

It was her little brother, using their father's phone.

"_I'm sooooo excited 4 tomorrow! I miss u :( also pls bring me a gift_".

She laughed. She did miss her brother too, and couldn't wait to spend a whole week of well-deserved vacation in her country. Half of her money was spent on this trip, and even if she had to eat instant noodles almost every day because of it, she knew it was worth it.

"_Miss you too. But it's MY birthday, shouldn't I be the one receiving gifts? Love you. Oh and stop playing CoD - I know that's totally what you're doing rn._"

An angel emoji was his only answer. Rolling her eyes, she huffed a laugh and started to prepare for the night to come. She internally debated on what to wear. England could sometimes be a cold country, but still, they were in the middle of summer. Eventually, she decided to settle for a black velvet dress, perfectly hugging her body. It was knee-length, with long sleeves. Wearing it always made her feel like a sort of modern Morticia Addams. She always had a flair for the dramatic.

She applied light makeup, checked that she turned off all the lights, and headed out for the night.

.

The music was not too loud tonight, which was a blessing. She didn't like having to yell to have a conversation with her friends. The pub was currently playing "Lullaby" by the Cure, which could be odd all things considered, but she found she didn't mind. Sarah liked gothic rock, it made her feel like she was the heroine of a Bronte's sisters novel. This particular penchant had nothing to do with a Goblin King - no, not all.

"So Sarah…" began Mark. Her friend was a 28 years old gifted author working in a publishing house. He always had a warm smile on his face. He promised her, a few months after she came to England, that one day he would help her publish her thesis, and who knows, maybe even a book. Not that she had too much hope about the latter. "You're leaving tomorrow for your vacation, is that right ? I'm not sure I remember where your parents live."

Niamh, a 24 years old Irish woman with big, tight red curls, who happened to be one of her colleagues at university and who also happened to conveniently be her best friend, suddenly raised her head with interest, looking slyly at her friend. Sarah always thought she looked like she could be one of Jareth's subjects - a mischievous fae who always had something on her mind.

"Or maybe a long-distance boyfriend that we didn't know of?" she purred, and Sarah laughed.

"No. I promise, I wouldn't hide something like that from you guys" she said, amused by her friend's antics. Niamh laughed, her eyes a bit glossy and cheeks red. Sarah knew she also had the same look on her face - they had drunk quite a lot tonight. Mark simply rolled his eyes, muttering something about "women", but Sarah was not fooled, he was smiling as much as them. She cleared her voice. "My parents used to live close to New York, but they moved a few years ago. They live in Oregon now - something about "rocks and mountains being nothing next to men". They laughed again in unison, though she could see her friends had no idea where Oregon was in the States. Not that she could blame them. She also had troubles placing all the states on a map, and she was American.

"And what about your superstar mother?" inquired Niamh, always the curious one.

Sarah winced. Linda had a complicated life, always on the move, never really settling. She tried her best to remember the last home she bought.

"I think she is living in France at the moment. But, you know," she added with a shrug, "she might decide in a few months that she doesn't actually like France, and move to Italy. At least Jeremy is always with her, and that's a relief", she said with genuine fondness. She loved her mother, and liked Jeremy. She might not have the steadiest life, but it was alright. She caressed the bracelet she sent her for her birthday. The note accompanying it was sweet - Linda promised her she was proud of her and would always love her. She gently smiled to herself.

Her friends smiled and soon, they were talking about something else. Mark's new book. Niamh's students. Sarah's thesis. The conversation flowed and so did the alcohol. After two hours, Sarah knew she was completely drunk. Her friends decided to call it a night, and they parted ways. Mark asked her if she needed a cab, but she didn't live too far. She could walk.

.

It was such a lovely night. The sky was not clouded, for once, and she could see the stars. The air was cool but she was not cold. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. She smiled to herself. She knew that tomorrow she would come to regret that extra pint, but for now, she was simply happy.

She suddenly heard a movement in the tree next to her, startling her. She relaxed a bit when she realized it was just an owl. A white owl.

Wait.

She eyed it suspiciously. "You're not trying to kidnap me, aren't you ?". The owl flew away, and Sarah quietly laughed. "Thought so", she muttered.

Her gaze still on the flying bird, she didn't see the telephone pole in front of her. She hit it head first, completely stunning her. She fell.

"Ouch.." she said while getting up. Her nose was bloody, and her head hurt. Feeling nauseated, she realized she might have a concussion tomorrow.

"Oh crap, no." The bracelet her mother had given her laid a few feet from her on the road, its pearls spilling on the ground. Making sure there was no car coming, she hurried on the road to pick up the pearls. "Crap, crap, crap." she muttered in her breath.

Too absorbed in her task, she didn't hear the sound of the car coming at high speed.

She didn't see the moment the driver realized he was too fast and couldn't avoid her. She didn't see the panic or the fear.

She didn't see her death coming.

.

Somewhere, in a strange land, the Goblin King felt a pang in his heart, as if a part of his soul left his body, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.


	2. A Mortal Heart

"All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts."

—William Shakespeare, _As You Like It_

* * *

He wasn't used to this part of the Underground. The last time he set foot there was many centuries before, on the days following his coronation. As the new High King, he had to know the entirety of his realm, even the unpleasant parts. And this was the worst of them.

He didn't even know why his Ancestor chose residency here. The air was cold, freezing even, and he could see next to nothing. The smell of death was everywhere.

He thought of his great-grandmother, lovely and full of life, and wondered why she decided to remain by His side. She could have lived above ground, with her flowers and her dear mother. But she chose the darkness instead.

Love, he guessed. A weak, pathetic emotion. Something that brings the greatest joy or the greatest pain. In his case, it was pain. And it will forever be pain.

The gates of Hell were closed when he reached his destination. This didn't sit right by him. He was King. All gates of the Underground should open to him, even this one. He heard a growl on his left, but his face remained blank. Impassible.

"Let me pass, Cerberus. I am your King, as well as His. I am not one of your dead mortals."

His tone was imperious and left no place for argument. He was not in the mood for his great grandfather's games. He came for an answer, and he will leave with one.

"As my King commands." replied an other-wordly voice. The gates opened.

As he entered the Realm of the Dead, torches lit up. Their flames were blue and cold, giving him no sense of comfort. Yet, impassible he remained, not wanting to give life to his real emotions. A King shall not have any. At least that's what he has always been told. He was not sure of the wisdom of these words anymore.

As he walked toward the throne room, he observed his environment. He couldn't see them at first, but the path he was walking on was made of bright, colorful marigolds. They were the flowers of the dead, yet flowers were a representation of life. Life… even in Death. He couldn't suppress a small, sad smile. He shouldn't have underestimated his great grandmother's influence. Goddess of Spring she might have once been, Persephone was also the Queen of the Dead.

The walk was interminably long. He knew it was on purpose, this place was not supposed to be comfortable for living beings. He wondered if the dead see something else. Instead of a blue glow and the smell of death, maybe they see a lightful and colored place, with blooming trees and fairy lights. That should be a wonderful, comfortable sight. Or maybe they see what he sees now: death, and the inevitable truth of their mortality. Is it what she saw, in her last moments? Is it what she… What she…

He came to a stop. The pain was still too fresh, too strong. He couldn't breath normally, his chest hurt too much. He tried to find support against the wall, but soon enough he realized this was no normal wall. It was a mirror.

He looked at his own reflection, and shuddered. He looked like one of the ghosts who haunted the dark forest of his labyrinth. He was garbed in his black armor, the one with intricate patterns on his chest plate, and his crown adorned his head, yet he didn't look like a king. He looked like a defeated man. He was paler than usual, and his face was marked by deep dark circles. His hair was disheveled.

He doesn't sleep very well. He lays at night, staring at the ceiling. Questions forever unanswered, haunting him. How did it happen? Did she suffer? Was she alone? What were her last thoughts?

He was suffering and his kingdom was suffering with him. In his fury and grief, he had almost burned his castle to the ground, damn the consequences. He wanted to go to war with the Mortals, for daring to spill the blood of what was rightfully his.

He had tried to find her. When he felt the pang in his heart, he knew it was her. Their connection had always been special, even if they both always denied it. But when he got to where he had sensed her, Sarah, he found… nothing. There was a dead man in a crashed car, ambulances with dozens of healers, and blood, so much blood, on the road. He knew it was hers - he could always recognize her scent. And yet, she was not here.

She had vanished.

This is why today, after a whole week of torment, he decided to come here. He had to find answers. He had to know what happened to her. He didn't - couldn't dare hope she was still alive, but the uncertainty was killing him.

By what right does a mere mortal hurt a High King?

He didn't bother to knock on the door leading to the throne room. The smell of rot and decay was so heavy in the air it made him feel nauseated. His most basic instinct screamed at him to flee and never come back. But he knew he couldn't. At least not now.

Seated on the throne was his great grandfather, King Hades. The man - the god? - was smiling at him, but it was no sweet smile. His eyes had a mischievous glint, a trait Jareth and all his predecessors had inherited. But the resemblance stopped here. Hades's hair was longer than his, and as black as ebony. His eyes were the color of midnight. He was dressed elegantly yet very simply, in a loose dark tunic, as if he expected to receive the visit of a relative. He was an imposing figure, and Jareth almost wanted to bow to him. Almost.

"You know why I am here, Hades."

At that, his ancestor threw his head back and laughed. He sounded genuinely amused, and Jareth suddenly felt like he was a 200 years old teenage boy being made fun of. His eyes narrowed, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. The rumor said that the King of the Dead was half mad. That it's what eternity does to a man - even if this man is a god. He didn't want to know if there was any truth to that. Facing eternity alone was a painful prospect.

"And why would I know that, young King ?" he told him in a mocking voice.

Jareth had never wanted this much in his whole, long life to kill an old man.

"Don't play fool with me. You know I'm talking about my…" His what, exactly? She wasn't his lover. He had watched her over the years but he had never interacted with her. He had let her have her own life, thinking, maybe naively, that one day she would be his. So what was she to him? By what right should he demand the King of the Dead to grant him answers about a simple, mere mortal girl? "Champion. My labyrinth's champion. I have every right to know what happened to the only mortal, my sworn enemy, who has defeated it."

Hades laughed again.

"Sworn enemy, hmm?" he purred, as if knowing a secret. Jareth's face remained blank. "I might have answers for you. But how will you pay me, I wonder?"

Right. God or no, he would kill him.

"I don't have to pay you. I am the King, your King, you sworn obedience to me."

At that, the God in front him sighed heavily, as if the conversation was already boring him. Jareth wondered if it is what his subjects feel when he grows tired of them, and makes them know it. Perhaps he should reconsider the way he behaves with them. Perhaps.

"Everything comes with a price. You know the rules, my boy. I sure know them. I made them."

His eyes twitched. He hadn't been called "boy" in ages.

"You didn't make anything. Titania and Oberon did. That wasn't you." he replied, his voice full of venom. He had enough. He came for answers, not for a debate.

"And who do you think told them to do it, hmm, my boy?" he was condescending, obviously taking pleasure in his successor's building anger. It wasn't that he meant to actively be cruel. It was just his nature, as it was Jareth's. They were family, after all.

Jareth sighed. He didn't like giving up a fight, but he was so tired. He felt so young yet so old.

"I just need to know. Did she die ?"

He almost closed his eyes, bracing himself for the answer. But he didn't. He stared at his grandfather in the eyes. Hades's face was blank, unreadable.

"Yes."

He knew it, and yet that didn't stop his heart from breaking entirely. He had his answer.

He'll have to face eternity alone, without her. Without Sarah. In the end, she did beat him twice. For he was immortal and death was the true enemy of all humans.

"Can I…" his voice broke, just a little bit. He cleared his voice. He didn't want to appear weak - especially not in front of him. Not in front of anyone, really. "Can I see her, one last time ?"

At that, Hades looked almost sorry.

"I am afraid you are too late for that, my King."

Jareth simply nodded, and promptly left to nurse his broken heart.

.

After a while, a tall woman, with long auburn hair and beautiful blue eyes came and sat in her own throne, next to her husband's.

"Why didn't you tell him the entire truth?" she reprimanded him.

He laughed. "And where would the fun be in that?" she pinched his thigh, and he sighed. "If we are to have a mortal Queen, then he better understand how fragile their lives are. They are not toys he can play with, he's done that quite enough. I'm teaching him a hard lesson, but a lesson still."

The woman simply nodded.

"This Sarah… She will change things. I can feel it."

Her husband nodded in turn. He took her hand, and kissed it.

It was time for a change.

.

The smell of roses is what woke her up. It was everywhere, overwhelming her senses. She could feel the sun's warmth on her skin, which disconcerted her. She wasn't wearing her clothes.

She tried to move but her breath came to a stop. Never in her life had she felt such pain. It was as if all the bones in her body were broken. She muffled a sob, trying to be stronger than she really felt, and tried to remember what happened to her.

She remembered an owl and her mother's bracelet lying on the ground. She thought she could recall the distant sound of a horn… But then, nothing.

Panicked seized her. She didn't know where she was, she was wearing clothes that weren't her own, and she couldn't remember her previous night. And her parents! She was supposed to come home today! She had to find a phone, or anything, to let them know she would be very, very late.

But the pain she felt was too strong, she could barely open her eyes. A when she did, everything was blurred. She could guess the room she was in was bathing in a pink and orange light, which, she supposed, should be very pretty. But now that she was more awake, all she could feel and smell was roses. It almost irritated her throat. She coughed, though that hurt her even more.

She heard voices, and multiple footsteps, coming to her.

"Sarah !" told her a relieved voice. "You are awake - that's such a relief!"

It was Niamh. Was she at Niamh's place? She didn't recall that scent, and she was almost sure her room had never been pink. Where were they?

"Niamh…" she tried to speak, but her voice croaked. She coughed all the more, and soon enough she felt hands aiding her, giving her water to drink. It appeased her throat. She mumbled a 'thank you', but she still couldn't clearly see who was helping her.

"Hush, Sarah, you had a serious accident. You need to rest after what you've been through." An accident. A car, maybe?

Niamh was very close to her now, taking her hands and squeezing it in a gentle gesture. Sarah squinted… Was it her imagination or…

"Niamh, why are your ears pointy?"

Her friend simply laughed, and ignored her, humming something to herself.

"Oh my… What the… Is that wings I'm seeing?" Sarah extracted herself from Niamh's embrace, her vision now almost clear. She wasn't dreaming. Niamh had pointy ears and a pair of wings. What the fuck. What the fuck was going on. She could feel a cold sweat breaking out on her back. She shivered, and that didn't have anything to do with the pain.

And so she did the least reasonable thing she could have done: she ran.

She didn't go too far. She had overestimated her legs. She was injured, after all, even if the rush of adrenaline made her forget. And so she found herself flatten on the ground, in a very non-flattering posture. But even if she hadn't been injured, she would recognize later that running would still have been a bad decision. What could legs do in front of literal wings?

She heard a man behind her sigh, visibly exasperated.

"We don't have time for this, Niamh. We need to bring her to Lady Aoif."

Sarah turned - still very much on the ground - to assess the man who just spoke. He was tall and lean, and had short dark hair. His eyes were the same color as Niamh, and she wondered if they were perhaps of the same family.

"Can anyone please tell what the heck is going on?" she demanded, feeling very angry, and very embarrassed by the position she was in. She couldn't get up and they didn't make a single move to help her.

Niamh and the stranger simply ignored her, though Niamh finally came to her help. She helped her rise, and Sarah winced and cursed, and helped her back in her bed.

"Lady Aoif can wait, Bran. She is generous. And Sarah needs rest, she can't even walk." The man, Bran, crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. He didn't spare her a glance. "Make her sleep, then. I'll call the healer to speed the recovery." And on that, he left.

Sarah had a nervous laugh.

"What did he mean by "make her sleep?"" When only silence answered her, she watched suspiciously at her friend, who was looking at her in a very sorry manner.

"Don't be mad when you wake up, please."

"Niamh - !" was all she managed to say before she felt her eyes closing again, and oblivion took her.

.

Days and weeks passed, and Sarah was in a daze. Most of the time, she didn't understand what was happening. She suspected they magically drugged her, to prevent her from moving and asking questions. She could see doctors, or at least what they called "healers" - little ugly things who didn't look human enough, moving in and out of her room everyday, giving her potions to drink and applying mysterious ointment on her body. Sometimes, she could hear Niamh in her room, chatting, though anything she said didn't make sense. And other times, she could sense a feminine presence next to her, singing to her in a soft voice. Sarah felt safe with her.

She didn't know how much time had passed, and it worried her. Surely, she must have gone missing, and the police were probably looking for her. But she knew, deep in her bones, that she no longer was in her world. She was… Somewhere else.

One day, one of the healers she saw the most had declared her completely healed. She should have felt relieved, but somehow, it worried her even more. She was now completely on her own.

And so she decided it was time for her to get up and have her answers. She realized that what she was wearing was, in fact, a long dusty pink dress, with transparent sleeves and with grey flower patterns on the bodice. It made her feel like some kind of princess.

She then completely assessed her room. She hadn't imagined the golden rose glow: it was everywhere, as if there was never a cloud or rain. The room was simply decorated, yet she could sense the elegance of the place. And she better understood where the smell of roses came from: there were dozens of bouquets in the room. The patio door even directly led to a private garden, also full of roses. When she realized it was open, she decided to step through it. The air was cool, as if it was a lovely spring day.

It was… Wonderful. She felt like she was 15 again, with dreams of princesses and fairy tales. She was amazed. She was scared.

She continued her walk through the garden. There were so many flowers she couldn't recognize. Her step-mother, Karen, had loved roses. She would absolutely love this place.

Karen… Toby, her father, and her mother. She felt guilt seize her. They were probably dead worried about her, and here she was, taking a stroll in a fantasy garden. She would have to leave soon, after properly thanking her saviors. And exchanging a word or two with Niamh.

The only thing she was certain of, is that he wasn't here. She didn't know why, but she knew that if he was the one who had saved her, he would have gloated about it on the first occasion. But if she wasn't in his realm, then where was she?

It was ridiculous. She was too old for these fantasies. But yet…

She suddenly heard a beautiful song, coming from what she guessed was the center of the garden. It was the same song the mysterious woman had sung for her when she was recovering from her injuries. She hurried her steps, wanting to see for herself who this was.

She came to a small fountain, with a beautiful woman sitting on its edge. She was a vision of dreams. A cascade of chestnut hair fell to the navel of her chest, and her eyes were the color of the ocean. Like Niamh, she had pointy ears - though she didn't have wings, and it seemed like her skin almost glowed. She was dressed in a similar fashion as Sarah. She didn't have trouble guessing it was the woman Bran had talked about weeks before - Lady Aoif. Feeling suddenly very shy in front of such beauty, she turned her heels to leave. Too late.

"Come, child," she said in a feminine and sweet voice. Sarah was reminded of her mother, and, though she didn't know why, she trusted her immediately. She turned. "I am sorry if I have frightened you. Please, walk with me."

Not knowing what to say, she nodded. Lady Aoif rose - and though Sarah was in no way small, she was towered by the other woman. A faerie trait, without a doubt. They locked arms, and began to walk.

"You might already know that, but I am Aoif, the High Lady of the Court of Roses."

The Court of Roses. This is where she was.

"I am Sarah. Sarah Williams." she introduced herself in turn. "And I must say, I am not really surprised by the name of your Court." she added, laughing.

Lady Aoif laughed in turn, and Sarah was mesmerized. She had never heard such a beautiful sound.

"I know, it is quite obvious." She smiled gently. "Now Sarah, I assume you have questions?"

She had so many that it hurt her head. She furrowed a brow, trying to concentrate.

"What happened to me? Why am I here? And... Why does Niamh have pointy ears and wings?"

Lady Aoif laughed again, amused by her sudden babbling.

"Hush, sweet child. That is a lot of questions. But rest assured that I will answer all of them." She caressed her cheek in a maternal gesture. She wondered if the woman before her had once been a mother. She certainly behaved like one. After a moment of silence, she let her hand go, and looked at Sarah almost with regret. Then she smiled, as if this moment didn't happen. "You had an accident, as Niamh told you. You got hit by a car. It was pretty serious. In fact…" she squeezed her hand. "You died."

Sarah's breath stopped.

She had died. She was… But how? Did her family know? Were they mourning her, at the very moment?

Her heart was beating fast, and it made her feel dizzy.

"I need to sit." is all she told Aoif. The woman nodded in understanding, and they sat on a nearby bench. A bench that wasn't here just seconds ago. Did the woman do that? Feeling nauseated, she closed her eyes and breathed. She had to calm down. A glass of water magically appeared, and Sarah greedily drank it. She mumbled a 'thank you', and gestured lady Aoif to continue her story.

"You do realize that you are not… In your world." she told her as if she was talking to a child. Sarah nodded. She was no child and she was very much starting to understand the situation she was in. "You are in the Underground. This is a very large kingdom, with different courts, like mine. However, we are united under the banner of one ruler: our High King. I believe... You and him know each other."

Sarah's head rose, wide eyed. He was the High King? She thought he was only the Goblin King, a creature whose legend helped her grow out of her teenage years. Most of the time, she didn't even think he was real, just the product of an over-imaginative brain.

But deep down, she always knew, didn't she? Her memories were too vivid to be just a dream, even after all these years. She could see it in herself - she could see it in Toby.

But High King… That was something she hadn't expected. Somehow, she had thought he was some kind of exiled king, maybe. A fae who, like her, was misunderstood by his peers. She didn't why she was feeling disappointed. Being High King meant he was more important than she ever will be. But it also meant she had caught the eye of someone who could have anyone. That also was empowering, in a way.

She noticed Lady Aoif was examining her face, as if studying her reaction. When she didn't react, she continued.

"You, dear child, are very special." Sarah wrinkled her nose, not quite believing that. "Thankfully for you, and for our sake, we came in time. We brought you to our best healers, who, with time and patience, brought you back from the dead. It was difficult, and we had no way of knowing it would work. But as I said…'' she caressed the tips of Sarah's hair. "You are very special."

That wasn't true. She always had desperately wanted to be special, but she wasn't. Yet…

"But how did you even know I had an accident?"

Aoif let go of her hair.

"You will not like it, but you ought to know the truth. When you came to England, I sensed you. I am the one who sent Niamh to your world, to look out for you, and to one day bring you to us. I didn't think it would be this soon, however."

The pang of hurt and betrayal Sarah felt was so violent, it made her shake. Niamh was supposed to be her friend, her very best friend, and yet she was a spy. She always knew she was special, joked about it even, but to know she had been spying on her, planning to take her to this place, since the very beginning? That hurt. A lot.

She wasn't sure she even wanted to see her again.

At least Lady Aoif seemed to be sorry about that.

"She betrayed me. I loved her and trusted her and she betrayed me. Why?" Because that didn't make sense. Why would they go such lengths, to just bring her back?

Aoif sighed. "There is… a prophecy. About you. And only five people in the world know about it: his Grace, me, and the Three Witches who told him this prophecy." Sarah's ear peaked in interest. She was hurt, but she had to know. Had to know why she died and somehow, came back.

"Jareth doesn't know I know. It was long ago and I wasn't supposed to follow him that night. But orgies, when you are with a child and your husband is too preoccupied with another woman, can get quite boring."

Sarah hadn't expected the pang of jealousy she felt. Faeries were known to be very sexual beings, she had read about this. It wasn't difficult to imagine their High King would be as well. Yet, that unexpectedly bothered her. She didn't want to think about why.

"When he met the Three Witches, I was scared. Scared of them, scared to be discovered, scared for my future child… And yet, I stayed. I was a curious little thing. This is where I learned that one day, our King would meet a mortal girl, and that mortal girl would change our world." She paused, and Sarah breathed, anxiously waiting. "The witches said that the girl would best him twice, and that she would change our world twice. When centuries after I learned that for the first time, a mortal had defeated the King and his labyrinth, I realized who the girl from the prophecy was. You, Sarah."

Sarah rose. Twice would mean that she would have to challenge him again. And what would be the cost, this time? She had almost lost her brother already. She didn't want to know what she could lose this time. She had to come home, to her parents, to Toby. She was too old for fairy tales.

"I am sorry, Lady Aoif. Whatever you need from me, I am afraid I cannot give you." She was sincere in her apology. Aoif and her subjects had treated her well, and had healed her. "I thank you for everything you have done for me. It is something I will never forget." And on that, she made her departure.

"He never loved you, you know."

She came to a stop, suddenly feeling very cold. He never loved you. The words were spinning in her head.

"What?" was all she could ask.

Aoif gestured to her to come back. She shouldn't…

And yet, she did. Because that hurt, more than Niamh's betrayal or some king's orgies. Because she wanted to know.

Because if he never loved her, then that meant she had been a fool, and Sarah Williams wasn't a fool.

"You really think it was fate that brought you to the labyrinth, fate that brought you to say the words? You really think the Goblin King, who was in truth the High King of Faeries, would fall in love with the mortal girl and grant her powers?" Aoif's words were gentle, as if she was truly sympathising with her. Yet her words cut through Sarah's heart. She had naively believed that, yes… It was fate. Fate and love.

It was a lie.

"You are lying to me." Was all she said, her heart desperately gripping to the hope that the beautiful faerie in front of her was a simple liar.

"Faeries cannot lie. You do know that." was all she answered. "This is how his Majesty preys on mortals. He made them read the book. And he feasts on their beliefs, for human's belief is what keeps our magic strong. He had done that for centuries."

Sarah's mind was reeling. Millions of thoughts collided in her head.

"But…" She stuttered. "He promised me…"

"Your dreams?" told her Aoif, in a chagrined manner. Sarah winced. She felt embarrassed and ridiculed. She felt like she was the butt of a centuries long joke. It hurt. A lot. "To fear him, to love him, and he will be your slave?"

She felt tears in her eyes, and she squinted her eyes to make them disappear. Breathing was getting difficult.

The story of her life was based on a lie.

"For centuries, this is what he had promised to mortals, men and women alike. And in the end, they all accepted his offer of dreams and love. All… But you."

So that meant she wasn't actually the only one who had defeated the labyrinth - not truly. She was just the only one who had resisted him. That was… Humiliating. Anger replaced pain. How dared him, playing with mortal hearts? Playing with her heart?

She wasn't a creature made for hate, but she felt a storm raging in her blood.

"Your parents and your brother don't know about what happened to you. To them, you had an urgent problem with your thesis and so you couldn't come home for the holidays. They don't expect to see you for a while. But rest assured that you will see them again, Sarah, I promise you. But I - we need you." Aoif's voice was pressing her, desperately trying to convince her. She still didn't understand.

"But… He is your king. Why would you conspire behind his back?" And where were even the daughter and husband she had talked about earlier? What was going on here?

"He is my King" Aoif agreed. And then, with a poison she didn't think such a beautiful woman could have, "And my enemy. I want him to pay for what he did to your kind. And I want him to pay for what he did to me and to my family."

Sarah hesitated. She could see that Lady Aoif was suffering, too. Something terrible had happened to her, and Jareth was directly responsible. She opened her mouth to ask but the woman interrupted her.

"You are free to leave now, Sarah," she told her, her voice a warning. "But make no mistake. You have defeated him once and he has never forgotten that. One day, there will be retribution to pay. And he may not be able to force you to say the word again, but…" her eyes glinted in a very fae-manner, and Sarah shuddered. "You have a brother who doesn't know that."

Sarah closed her eyes, breathing. She couldn't let anything happen to Tobby, or to his future children. She had sworn, 10 years before, that she would always protect him. Even at the cost of her own freedom. Her eyes still closed, she simply asked:

"Alright. What do I have to do?"

She missed Aoif's mischievous smile.

"I need you to best him once again … And I need you to become the High Queen of Faeries."


	3. Five of Swords

"I'm headed straight for the castle

They wanna make me their queen

And there's an old man sitting on the throne

That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean"

Halsey, _Castle_

* * *

If she had been the protagonist of a novel, Sarah Williams would have no doubt introduced this new chapter of her life with: "You may wonder how I got here".

But after what she'd done, she could hardly be considered a heroine anymore. Heroines don't come and almost stab to death their love interests - if that's what he could be called. Somehow, she always knew it would end like that. With one of them on the floor, begging for mercy. She didn't imagine then that she would be the one in power.

But she did wonder how things ended up like this. The plan had been quite simple, after all. Challenge the High King of Faeries (the most important person in the Underworld) to a duel ("_If my champion wins_", had said Lady Aoif, "_then the Court of Roses will give you a bride, my King_"), then stab him with an iron dagger to defeat him ("_I yield_", he had spat, eyes cold with fury, making her shiver) , reveal your identity to him as he slowly realizes his sworn enemy is alive and well (oh and she had beat him. Again.), reveal that you are the champion _and_ the bride (she still couldn't comprehend that look he had given her - was it relief? Desire? Hate?), marry him, be queen, improvise a little bit, find a way to save Toby's future children and, at the same time, stop Jareth from using mortals as magical wells. Oh and steal for Lady Aoif the necklace he always wears ("_I promise_", had told her Aoif with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "_I will tell you why I need this, when the time is right_" - and Sarah had believed her), find a way to get divorce, and finally go back to America and hope the Goblin King won't try to get revenge.

She never said it was a perfect plan. Just that it was simple.

She had expected him to lash out his anger on her. She had expected him to try and seduce her, and when that ultimately failed, reveal to her his real, monstrous nature. After all, he was the villain of the story.

But what she had not expected was to find herself bent on his desk, with his lips devouring her neck, her hips firmly pressed against him, and a finger tugging on a nipple - _his_ finger, _her_ nipple. His breathing was desperate, as if he had always desired this and couldn't quite realize this is happening, but the worst is - she is as desperate. She moans - loudly, and she just knows everyone in the next room can hear them. Can hear _her_.

So, yes. _You may wonder how I got here_, and the thought almost makes her laugh.

_You have no power over me_, she had told him so many years before. She had completely meant it then.

She's not so sure anymore.

.

_A month before_

"You traitorous bitch!"

Niamh, high in the air, carefully avoided the shoe her best friend, Sarah, viciously threw at her. She winced, having clearly underestimated the anger her friend would feel at the reveal of her true nature. And why they were even friends in the first place.

"Sarah, I can explain, but I need you to calm down!"

This had the opposite effect. Instead of calming, she was fuming, and Niamh could almost see her eyes become red and smoke coming out of her nose. And of course, being the faerie she was, the thought made her laugh. Out loud.

This time, Niamh didn't avoid the chair Sarah threw at her. She fell on the ground with a big OOF, and grimaced. She had hurt one of her wings.

She heard her best friend's shocked exclamation.

"Oh my god Niamh I'm so sorry, I didn't mean… I mean yes I DID but… Are you alright ?"

Humans were cute creatures. One moment they hated you, and the next they loved you. They meant no harm until suddenly, harm was done. They were so unlike her kind. Fae's feelings were eternal. They hated for life and loved for life. And these feelings run deep. They loved and hated with a burning passion that lasted all eternity.

She simply smiled.

"Come and help me, dummy."

She raised her head to observe her friend's reaction. She was unsure - guilt and anger and affection could be read on her face. But in the end, friendship won. She sighed and gave Niamh her hand. She took it, grinning.

Adorable.

"Thank you, love. Now, can we please have a calm and normal conversation before you start throwing objects at me again?" She laughed. Sarah gave the most dramatic sigh she had ever heard (and Niamh had known King Jareth for a long time), and simply nodded.

Niamh led her to the couch in Sarah's room, and they sat. After a moment of silence, her friend asked, her voice full of concern: "Will you be alright? Your…. Wing…" she swallowed, as if she had troubles saying this specific word, which she could understand, she supposed.

"I'll be fine, sweetheart. And I owe you an explanation - about my wings, my pointy ears and… Well, everything." It wasn't often that Niamh was at loss for words (faeries were talkative creatures, after all), but she honestly had no idea on how to explain this mess. So she chose what was the simplest: she began by the beginning.

"I am not exactly a faerie. My father was a fae and a lord of the Court of Roses, where I was born, but my mother was something different. A gelfling." Sarah was transfixed on her words, and Niamh remembered how much her friend loved stories. Especially stories with magic. "Gelflings are a near extinct species - a massacre happened in their lands, centuries before. I inherited most of my traits, from my magical abilities to my physical appearance, from my Fae father, except for two things: I have my mother's wings, and her deep connexion with nature. Which makes me a bit special here since, as I have told you, there are almost no Gelflings anymore. And I am the only one of my kind." She smiled sadly. It had been lonely, growing up in her skin.

"Thanks to my connexion to nature, I am able to freely navigate between worlds: the Aboveground and the Underground. Which, you can guess, is a valuable asset." Sarah nodded, her eyes never leaving her own. She was drinking her words. "Anyway. I grew up here, in the Court of Roses, alongside my half brother, Bran. Wait, why are you smiling?"

Sarah's grin was wide. "I knew it. I knew he was your brother."

Niamh frowned. Humans could be as cute as unpredictable.

"Anyway. We grew up here, under the tutelage of Lady Aoif, and the supervision of my father. Truth to be told, I have never really known my parents. They both still live, as well as Bran's mother, but the Court of Roses is very large, and so they live in their own estate rather than in the main city."

A moment of understanding passed between the two women. They both knew what it was like to grow up feeling a stranger to their own families.

"So when you told me your parents lived in the countryside and rarely visited, you didn't lie. You just didn't tell me which countryside."

They both laughed at that. "Faeries cannot lie, but we can omiss details".

Sarah grinned and gestured to her to continue her story.

"Given my nature and abilities, when Lady Aoif sensed you coming to England, she naturally chose me. My mission was, as you know it, to grow close to you. Close enough for you to trust me and open up to me, until I could finally bring you here." Guilt was a surprising feeling, one she didn't expect to feel one day. Faeries weren't prone to guilt. But when she looked up and saw Sarah's cold, hurt eyes, she was seized by shame.

"Was our friendship even real?" Niamh winced at her friend's hurt. She felt betrayed, and she couldn't blame her.

"Of course it was!" She protested. "The moment I saw you, I knew why you had defeated the King. You were not like the other humans - you were special. I immediately liked you. I know it is not much of a consolation, but Sarah, you are my best friend. And a fae's love is eternal".

Her friend smiled sadly. "And a fae's hate?"

Niamh sighed. Jareth had a reputation, and everyone in the Underground knew of his deep hatred for the human girl who had bested him. It was almost an obsession. Sometimes, she thought… But no. Faes cannot lie and so she had no reason not to believe Lady Aoif when she had told her the King had never loved Sarah.

She took her friend's hand.

"For faes, love and hate are very alike, Sarah." She told her in a voice that, she hoped, was gentle enough. "And often, they are characterized by one thing: passion. The desire to possess the other, until there is nothing left. It's hot, and cold, and it burns."

Sarah breathed, nervous.

"How can I even survive this ?"

Niamh smiled, in the way only faeries can.

"We will teach you."

.

"Straight up your back, Lady Sarah."

Sarah pulled a face. When Niamh had told her they would "teach" her, she hadn't imagined this. This… Was akin to torture. She was some sort of Mia Thermopolis from the Princess Diaries series, except Mia never had to marry her arch nemesis in order to protect her little brother and her kingdom.

She had been here for two weeks now. On Mondays, as it was the case today, she had to learn good manners and dining etiquette. She had thought, at first, that this would be a _piece of cake_: her mother was an important woman, and she had taught her the basics of polite society. She could use complicated cutlery and could talk like a real lady. But it turned out that rules, in the Fae society, were… Different. They didn't use the same cutlery, the same language, the same manners. Sarah had to forget everything she knew in order to be 'properly educated', and that was insulting.

Tuesdays were history lessons, about the Faeries. She had to learn each different race living in the Underground, the role they played, the relationships they had with one another, the different courts, who was married to whom… She wasn't sure that a whole life would suffice to remember all of this. But this had the benefit to teach her precious information on Jareth and especially his family, that she could use later. She was astounded to find out that his ancestors were none other than Hades, the 'God of the Dead', and Persephone, the 'Goddess of Spring'. And that she had visited their kingdom, though Aoif had told her she couldn't remember it - most mortals were not supposed to find a way to cheat death, after all.

"But I don't understand.", Sarah had told Aoif. "My kind worshipped these… People for centuries. Did they know the truth?"

Lady Aoif had smiled then, always looking so sad. "These days, the veil between magic and men was thin. We didn't coexist, but they believed in us and feared us so much that we never feared for our magic. We were arrogant to believe this would last."

She was even more stunned when she had learned Jareth's grandparents were none other than the famous Oberon and Titania. She had written her Master's thesis on A Midsummer Night's Dream. She truly felt like she was at the center of a mean joke, and was only now discovering it. It was humiliating.

"Shakespeare", had told her Niamh, after her lesson, "Was a human and a close friend of Titania and Oberon. They appreciated his poetry and his wit. They allowed him and his wife, Anne Hathaway, to live in the Underground, and to write as many stories as he wanted to. They gave him knowledge no mortals could ever know. It's not a surprise he is the most famous writer in your world!" she had finished, laughing. Sarah didn't want to laugh. She wanted to vomit. It was as if her whole world was a joke. A lie.

A voice woke her from her reverie. "Lady Sarah.", told her her preceptor, clearly annoyed at her student's lack of attention.

"My apologies" Sarah muttered. She had to be careful and stop daydreaming. If she wanted to survive what would come to her, she had to be prepared. And the only way to do that was to learn. She had almost forgotten what it was like being the student, and not the teacher anymore.

Wanting to prove her willingness to make an effort, she took the oddly-shaped fork and knife, and started cutting the juicy meat on her plate. As she was about to put a piece in her mouth, her preceptor sighed loudly. "Lady Sarah, your salt!"

Right. The salt. Faerie food was poison to mortals. Not the kind of poison that would immediately kill her - no, that would be too kind, rather it would put her in a daze, trapped in a dream forever, until she eventually dies. She shuddered. She knew already how it felt like to be trapped as such. It was both exhilarating and frightening. She never wanted to feel that again. Thankfully, a mortal could still eat Fae food without fearing for its life thanks to salt. It was tasteless and annulled the food's magical properties. That was her very first lesson here: always, _always_ carry salt. It was a matter of life and death. And she had almost forgotten. Again.

She sighed, and shook her head. _Concentrate_, she told herself. _Concentrate_.

.

_Faeries learn to dance before they learn to walk... _

It is a terrifying thing, to feel your body move when your mind screams at you to stop. But she had to learn everything she could about the Fae folks. And there wasn't anything they loved more than dancing.

But fae dances, like their foods and their songs, were lethal to mortals. They trapped them in their rhythmic music, making them dance, dance, _dance_ until they died.

The faes were mischievous and had little understanding of human's mortality. Everything was a game for them - and what was more fun than a little mortal crying in despair, begging for the music to stop, as they danced to death ? Nothing. They were cruel and sadistic and it wasn't even their fault. It was just... Nature. The strong against the weak.

But they would come to fear her, too.

_Faeries learn to sing before they learn to talk..._

She was growing tired. Her feet hurt terribly. She looked at her dance instructor, begging her with her eyes. Never out loud. Never make a bargain with a fae.

Her instructor nodded, and the music stopped altogether.

"You did good, Lady Sarah. You will make us proud."

She simply collapsed, exhausted. One foot bleeding.

.

"Iron", told her Bran, who was also her fence instructor, "Is lethal to Faeries. Simply pricking our finger could kill us in the span of 5 minutes. That is why we don't have much of this material in the Underground, less so iron weapons."

Bran, like all faes, was beautiful and cunning, but he lacked the mischievousness Niamh or even Lady Aoif could possess. Truth to be told, he was rather aloof, and he barked at her rather than simply talk to her. Still, they had one thing in common: they both enjoyed peace and quiet. The fact that he possessed the ability to simply sit in silence was something Sarah appreciated.

But today, though she didn't know why, Bran was in a bad mood. Usually, their fencing routine went this way: attack, parry, attack, parry. And Sarah honestly believed she was getting good. But today Bran had shown a viciousness she had never seen before: in a true faerie fashion, he tricked her, making her believe he was doing a certain move then do something she hadn't expected, he circled her, and attacked her ferociously. She knew it was for her own good - she had to be prepared for her inevitable confrontation with the Goblin King, but she felt his anger today was something personal. As if he had seized the opportunity to blow off steam. She couldn't keep up with him. It wasn't until she was exhausted and bruised from head to toe that he had stopped the lesson of the day. Instead, he proceeded to teach her about Fae weapons.

"But Jareth certainly has millenia of fighting experience", she told Bran, giving voice to her apprehension. "Surely, even with iron, I will never defeat him."

Bran sighed, exasperated. Sarah pulled a face. It wasn't an unreasonable fear - it was a simple truth.

"In a normal duel, no, you would never defeat him. Even a lifetime of training wouldn't help you." He answered her, his voice always full of bark. She looked down. It was one thing to know something, it was another thing to hear someone else confirm it. "But I didn't show you these tricks today for nothing. Now that you know the basics of fencing, the rest of your lessons will be dedicated to one thing: tricks, and manipulation."

She looked at him in dismay.

"He is the King of Tricks", she answered him, uncertain. "How will he not see through it?"

At that, Bran had a cold smile.

"Oh, he will. But," and his voice gave her chills. "You have one thing he doesn't have: you can tell lies."

She didn't know what to answer. She didn't even see where he was going with this. Seeing her confusion, he explained:

"When Lady Aoif will challenge him to a duel, they will both impose condition. Lady Aoif will impose he doesn't use magic, and he will impose you don't use iron. As you will be clad in armor, he will not recognize you - he might even think you are a youngling. In other words: he will not expect Lady Aoif's champion to be able to _lie_. His arrogance will be his downfall."

Sarah felt a trepidation she had never felt before. The prospect of tricking him, to beat him at his own game in such a way… It was exciting. No, worse: exhilarating.

"But", Sarah said in a flash of concern. "I might kill him if I use iron on him. Wouldn't that destroy the purpose of this whole affair?"

Again, Bran sighed, but this time Sarah was the one annoyed. She had enough of him patronizing her. Narrowing her eyes, she looked straight in his eyes, crossing her arms against her chest, waiting for his answer. Daring him to patronize her again. He looked at her strangely.

"You will not kill him. He will be furious, but the King wants to live. He will yield." Sarah nodded and opened her mouth to talk again, but Bran interrupted her. "But in order for it all to work, you will have to show a viciousness only the Faes can show. You will not fight with an iron sword, but we will hide a dagger on you. And when the moment is right, when he will believe he is about to win and arrogance overtakes him, you will have to strike hard, to plunge that piece of iron where he didn't expect you to. Can you do that, Lady Sarah?"

She almost wanted to protest, to say that she had never been vicious in her life, that she would never be like _them_. But deep down, it is what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted to be like them, to be more than them. Or else she would have never accepted Lady Aoif's proposition. _It was for Toby_, she reminded herself, but she knew, deep in her core, that it wasn't just that. She loved danger and its thrill. She loved fairy tales with a dark twist. She wanted to be the heroine none would expect, the heroine who would not hesitate to strike down her enemy. She wanted to be powerful. She wanted power. That was the tragedy of all human beings.

So instead of saying no, all Sarah could say was, "Yes. Yes, I can."

And she did.

.

She didn't recognize the woman looking at her in the mirror. Her piercing green eyes were surrounded by black makeup, like war paint. In a way, she supposed she was going to war. But there would be no heroic death and noble ends in this story. And she could blame none but herself.

Her hair was secured in a complicated, intricate braid. She looked like one of those Viking warriors, those who didn't fear death and welcomed its embrace.

The armor she was wearing didn't reveal her gender. It was beautiful, white with rose patterns. With the helmet on, she could easily pass into a young Faerie boy. It was the intent, after all. She had to appear as unobtrusive as possible. Lull the Goblin King into a false sense of security.

After all, today was the day she would best the High King of Faeries at this own game.

They were near the end of August, and it was time for Lughnasadh. There would be ceremonies, contests, feasting and… Matchmaking. Whoever would dare it could challenge the Goblin King to give him a bride. It didn't necessarily have to be a duel - it could be anything. He could be challenged to run his own labyrinth, to kill a certain amount of ferocious beasts… So far, he has never lost. Today will change. Hopefully. She didn't want to think about the repercussions if she failed to best him today. Toby - and _herself_ would be in grave danger. She couldn't lose.

She heard the door of her room open, and she looked from the mirror.

Lady Aoif approached and smiled at her, seeming, for once, genuinely happy.

"You are so beautiful, Sarah", she told her, caressing the silk of her hair. "You will make us so very proud. I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to help me."

Sarah smiled in turn. She trusted Aoif with all her heart, and the two had grown close over the last month. She reminded her so much of her own mother.

"I hope I will not disappoint you, Lady Aoif. You have been so generous with me and…" Aoif shushed her with her finger.

"You will not disappoint me, Sarah. And you will not fail. I trust you."

Sarah bit her lips with apprehension, but nodded anyway. She had to trust herself.

Aoif clasped her hands on Sarah's shoulder, and they both looked at their reflection on the mirror.

"Come, Sarah, we are leaving. Are you ready to be the future High Queen of Faeries?"

She was.

.

Jareth was on the verge of being very, very drunk. His castle was bursting with life, richly decorated with silks, cushions, fruits and fairy lights. Almost all the nobility of his kingdom was here, drinking, dancing, singing and laughing loudly. All of them were in a festive, joyous mood. All except him.

He didn't talk nor did he laugh. He was drinking, quietly, on his throne. Had been for the past month. He was still the dutiful King he has always been - taking babes, taking care of his kingdom. It kept his mind occupied. But being alone was a nightmare. His mind was transfixed on Sarah. The beautiful and dead Sarah. How he had never told her how much he hated and loved her. How he never had the opportunity to taste her, at least once. He would give everything in exchange for a night - one night, it was all he asked. But even the God of Death wasn't willing to give him that.

He was King and yet he was powerless. Useless.

Faeries hated and loved for life. He would never have someone like her again. There would never be someone like her again. Yet he tried to convince himself that he could find someone else - and when he wasn't completely drunk, he found lovers to warm his bed. Brunettes with big green eyes. But they were too thin, too tall, their ears were too pointy to pretend it could be _her_.

He was a pathetic excuse for a man, for a King, and he hated himself for that. Hated her even more for having this power over him. Hated her and her damn mortality. Not that it mattered anymore.

He refilled his drink with more wine. None had challenged him for a bride yet, but he knew that would come soon enough. Lughnasadh was a time for matchmaking, after all. He knew sooner or later he would have to take a wife. He had been ruling far too long without an heir, and soon enough the Elders - with his _parents_, would come to him to urge him to do something about this.

The only person he had ever wanted like that was Sarah. But a King's duty always came first. It was not like he did have much of a choice.

A woman came to him, dressed in transparent silk, and started to dance. He gave her no attention at first, but soon he realized she had black hair and green eyes. If he could squint hard enough…

"You." he ordered her, smiling devilishly. "Come here, sweetheart."

He could feel Oisin's worried gaze on him, but he resolutely ignored her. His chambellan was a cold fae with a heart of gold, his most loyal servant, but she was particularly blunt and wouldn't hesitate to show her disapproval. He didn't need her patronizing.

The other faerie smiled, coyly, and sat on his lap, still dancing. She was beautiful, and sensual. Everything he needed at the moment.

Faeries were not scared of their own sexuality. Sex was sex, simple as that. They were not shy - it was an alien concept to them. He knew most of his subjects were probably fully taking part in an orgy at the moment.

The girl grinded against his cock, and he was responding accordingly. He groaned, and tasted her breast with his mouth, his tongue dancing around her nipple. She moaned - loudly, promising him a night of respite, far from Sarah and his memories. The girl was already hot and wet for him. He didn't know her name but he couldn't care any less. He was about to unzip his trousers, ready to take her here and now, on his throne, when he heard someone next to him cough, embarrassed. He sighed, loudly.

"What is it?" he barked at the little goblin watching him with anxiety.

"Y-your Highness... " the goblin - he recognized him, his name was Kreelb - cleared his voice and announced, with little more confidence: "Your Highness. Lady Aoif and her Court of Roses are here."

Jareth malaxed his temple. Aoif being here only meant one thing: troubles. The woman had lost her mind when… No. He wouldn't think about that. Not now.

The Court of Roses was far from his kingdom, and since the _accident _(which wasn't even one, wars after all are never accidents), he rarely saw her. He had spies in her lands, but they couldn't get close to her castle. They always ended up mysteriously missing. He knew that she had them killed, but he was tired of fighting his kind. Besides, Lady Aoif had never been a concern. She nursed her madness alone in her gardens, and that was enough for him. She was not a threat.

Which is why her coming here, now, was strange. He hadn't seen her in eons. She meant troubles and he was sure of that.

Aoif and her court approached, and bowed to him. She was still a beautiful woman, though he could see the vacant look in her eyes. He nodded to them, dismissed the woman on his laps, and rose on his feet to approach them in turn. He had to play the diplomatic card.

She was surrounded by various males and females, some he recognized, others he didn't. He recognized Niamh and Bran, Aoif's wards, though the last time he had seen them they were still younglings. He eyed Niamh's wings. Gelflings and faes produced children with strong magic. He had to be particularly mindful of this one.

He took Aoif's hand and kissed it. He didn't know why, but he was immediately reminded of this night, a few centuries before, before the Witches had prophesied his downfall at the hand of a mortal girl. He could see in Aoif's eyes that she had the same thought - even though, of course, she had no idea about the prophecy.

The predator in him sensed someone staring at him. He surveyed Aoif's court once more, and he noticed him - or she ? he certainly couldn't tell, all clad in armor, behind the others. The person had a helmet on, which didn't help Jareth recognize him. Or her. He guessed, from its size to its armor, that this person was traveling with Aoif, and was very young. The boy (he had decided it was a boy, for now), was staring at the bulge in his pants. Jareth laughed. "What is it, boy? Never seen a man's desire before?"

The boy said nothing. He continued to stare, silent under the heavy helmet. What an odd little thing.

"My King", said Aoif, her voice loud and clear. "Tis not often that my court and I come out of our lands. Today, however, is one special occasion: Lughnasadh. Today is a day for celebration and feast. Today is a day for love." Jareth shook his head. He knew where this was going, and he was afraid he had completely underestimated Aoif's madness. Her own smile was wild, and her eyes glinted, as if she knew something he did not. "I, Aoif, High Lady of the Court of Roses, challenge thou, Jareth, High King of Faeries, to a duel."

In a moment, the room was silent, all eyes on them. Waiting anxiously.

Jareth sighed.

"Oisin!" he called for his chambellan. In a moment, she was by his side, standing tall next to him. She entirely contrasted him. Her hair was short and black while his was longue and blonde, her eyes were midnight black when his were a mismatched blue. Her face always remained blank of all emotion when he always smiled like he was the Devil himself. Perhaps he was. "You will be the referee of this duel. Please state the rules."

She simply acquiesced, and asked the assembly:

"Who shall be your champion, Lady Aoif?"

Aoif smiled and gestured at the boy. There was a moment of silence, and Jareth burst into laughter. The rest of his subjects followed - except for the Court of Roses.

"Surely this is a joke. This boy isn't even a man yet. You've gone mad, Aoif." he told her, amused. He would kill this boy in the blink of an eye. He didn't stand a chance against him. But that would teach Aoif a well-deserved lesson.

The High Lady in front of him said nothing, still smiling, though it didn't reach her eyes. The boy in armor didn't move - apparently unphased. Still staring at him, as if Jareth was just an ordinary man, and not his King. Alright, then. That would teach him a lesson, too.

"Lady Aoif's champion is accepted. Who will be yours, Your Grace?" inquired Oisin.

"I will be my own champion." he stated, immediately shutting off anyone wanting to compete for him. A duel was perfect.

Oisin nodded. "Should the Court of Roses win, what shall they gain?" she asked Lady Aoif.

"If my champions wins, then the Court of Roses will give you a bride, my King. Of our own choice." she simply answered, her odd smile still in place.

He had expected that as much. Why ask for a duel, if not for this reason? He hadn't expected Aoif and her court to be greedy for power, but he shouldn't be surprised. Her husband, Connlach, had been greedy. Of course his wife would be too. He nodded, agreeing with the condition.

"Should his Majesty, the High King of Faerie, win, what should he gain?"

At that, Jareth smiled, always the Devil. He_ needed_ to be the Devil at the moment. He needed to lash out his anger and sadness and mourning. "Shall I win, I will have Lady Aoif disposed. She will forever be banned from my Kingdom. Should she return, she would instantly die."

The boy in armor reacted to that, and he silently inquired his Lady. But she ignored him in turn, and acquiesced to the condition, always so grateful.

"You are now free to state the rules of the duel. Your Majesty ?" asked him Oisin.

"You shall not use iron." was his immediate answer. He was fairly confident in his success, but iron was lethal to him and his kind. Jareth was bold, but he was no risk taker.

"Do you agree with that term, boy?" inquired Oisin. He nodded, agreeing.

"And what should be your rules?" she asked again.

Aoif answered in his stead. "The King shall not use magic to win this duel." The boy in the armor acquiesced again.

Jareth smiled, amused. "Cat got your tongue, my boy?"

Of course, he didn't obtain an answer.

"The terms of the duel have been enunciated. You may now shake hands." said Oisin out loud.

Carefully, the boy approached Jareth, and raised his hand, shaking. He almost felt pity for him. Still, he didn't fall apart, and for that Jareth could respect him. He took his hand, and shook it. For the briefest second, he felt a flicker of… He was not sure. Like his soul recognized something in the boy, a fleeting moment where he could almost sense the boy's thoughts and heart. It lasted but a second, but it was enough to give Jareth a moment to pause. He eyed the boy strangely, and by the way his hand was still shaking, he assumed he had felt it, too.

But the moment passed, and the boy steadied himself. Jareth mentally shook his head. He would muse on what had happened later, after the duel. After he had won. As was custom, the boy bowed to him, and then assumed a fencing position.

It was time for the duel to start.

He let the boy attack first, to test his strength. Soon enough, he was confirmed something he already knew: the boy was weak, and probably wouldn't survive this encounter. It wasn't that Jareth actively wanted to kill him, he parried his attacks with the ease his millenia of experience gave him, but he simply was too strong and a single blow could strike the boy down.

Truth was, he pitied him. The boy was ridiculing himself, and most of his subjects were now openly laughing at him. Yet Aoif kept smiling, and that didn't bode well with him, for it either meant she had completely lost it, or she was plotting something and things were turning out in her favor. He had to be careful and put an end to this farce of a duel. He couldn't care less about this boy's ego, he had centuries to get over it.

This time, he was the one to attack. The boy parried as he could, and Jareth inclined his head, silently congratulating him. But that wouldn't be enough. He did something the boy obviously didn't expect.

He punched him in the face.

He heard the boy's breath hitch, and he fell.

The duel was soon to be over.

Kneeling in front of him, Jareth cruelly smiled and said :

"Yield, my boy."

He felt it rather than saw it. The pain he suddenly felt was so strong, so intense, that he immediately fell to the ground, next to the boy.

Iron. That lying, traitor _mortal_ son of a bitch had hidden an iron dagger and had stabbed him in the only part of his body that wasn't armored: his feet.

He kicked the boy as hard as he could, he yelled and he insulted him with all he had, but the boy was vicious and wouldn't let go. Jareth felt a hot fury run in his blood, he would kill him, and Aoif, and the damned Court of Roses, he would kill every traitors he could get his hands on -

But he felt his strength diminish. With each passing second, he felt life abandoning his body and he realized: the boy had won. If Jareth didn't yield now, he would die, on this very floor, in his own castle, without an heir or a wife. It would be the end of his line. The end of the Underground.

He wouldn't even be with Sarah. Mortals and faes didn't go to the same place when they died. He would be dead and alone forever.

He knew his subjects were watching, silently judging him. He felt shame and anger in him, and he promised himself that one day, he would have his revenge. This was not the end: this was only the beginning.

And so, with all the rancour and fury he could manage to have despite his weakened state, he spat :

"I yield."

And as soon as he had said the words, the iron dagger was gone, and the boy was on his feet, still stunned by the punch Jareth had given him, and he felt a vicious satisfaction in that.

He rose too.

"And to whom do I have the honor ? Who betrayed our laws in such a traitorous way ? Show yourself !" He intimated.

The boy watched Lady Aoif, asking her for permission.

"Why, my King", she asked him with her poisonous voice, "don't you recognize your own wife?"

And so the boy, who in truth was a girl, removed her helmet, and Sarah William's proud green eyes and bloody nose pierced into his very soul.

"_She will be your downfall_".

The Three Witches had warned him, so many centuries before. It didn't scare him then.

It does now.


End file.
